


I Am

by Alyss_Baskerville



Category: Big Bang (Band), SHINee, Super Junior
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Idols, Break Up, F/M, Female Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, Idol Original Character, Jealousy, Kissing, Major Original Character(s), Male-Female Friendship, Original Character-centric, Post-Break Up, Pre-Idol, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Issues, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Self-Indulgent, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-01-23 06:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18543775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyss_Baskerville/pseuds/Alyss_Baskerville
Summary: It was April 18th, 2009, and everything still felt surreal. Soyeon had been preparing for this day for over two months, but she still couldn't quite wrap her mind around the fact that it was really happening.Today, she was shooting the music video for her debut.-----||Warning||: Alternate Universe. Old YG family remains the same, but mostly everything else changes.





	1. Basic Information

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This is a wholly self-indulgent fanfiction with a wholly self-indulgent OFC that I've created. 
> 
> As you guessed from the tags and the summary, the story has a romantic plotline surrounding G-Dragon, quite possibly my favorite idol, and certainly one of my favorites, and my own OFC, Lee Soyeon. I wanted to see what would happen when two extremely successful and popular idols dated.
> 
> Despite that, I intend to flesh out my character first. Don't come into this expecting a rapid-pace explosion of passion, because that's not how I plan to write this story. 
> 
> Enjoy :3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(As you might know, this faceclaim is Kim Hyuna, the former member of Wonder Girls and 4MINUTE and currently a soloist. If you aren't a fan, please do go check her out; she's _amazing_ , from her stage presence to her dancing to her sexy aura. I consider her an inspiration, honestly. Also, please keep in mind that Hyuna is in her twenties during these gifs, while Soyeon, at this point in the story, is only fifteen. So she'd look younger for the time being.)

 ** _Stage Name:_**  Soyeon (소연)

 ** _Birth Name:_**  Lee Soyeon (이소연)

 ** _Position:_**  Soloist

 ** _Birthdate:_**  September 19, 1993

 ** _Zodiac Sign:_**  Virgo

 ** _Height:_**  157 cm (5’2″)

 ** _Weight:_**  43 kg (94 lbs)

 ** _Nationality:_**  South Korean


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the stylist combed his hands through her locks, now dyed a vibrant, fierce red, rearranging them around her shoulders in the way she deemed best, Soyeon wrung her hands together, trying to keep her composure. She wasn’t sure if she felt excited or terrified. Probably both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **Disclaimer:**_ In real life, not my self-indulgent fantasy world, Jelly is a song owned by CUBE Entertainment, written and performed by Jeon Soyeon.

**_April 18 th, 2009_ **

As the stylist combed his hands through her locks, now dyed a vibrant, fierce red, rearranging them around her shoulders in the way she deemed best, Soyeon wrung her hands together, trying to keep her composure. She wasn’t sure if she felt excited or terrified. Probably both.

Today was her first music video shooting, and as she waited for the staff to prepare everything, Soyeon couldn’t help thinking back to how she got here in the first place.

It was an idiotic story, frankly.

Her father had, on a hazy whim, signed her up for an audition to enter CUBE Entertainment as an idol trainee. He hadn’t spoken to her about it, hadn’t even considered the idea that she might pass. Her father had thought of it – according to him, at least – as an opportunity for her to express herself. Soyeon _loved s_ inging, _loved_ dancing, _loved_ to write songs, and she was good at it. The few times she had sought feedback she received high praise, and she did it often and she did it well. But she rarely expressed sought it and rarely showed her talent. Music, writing songs, it was all a joy to her, but she had never thought about revealing it to people other than her father and her few close friends.

And her father claimed he wanted others to see her talent, as well. But he had not expected her to actually _pass_ the audition.

Soyeon had been torn on accepting the offer. Her life was not the best, but it was not the worst either. She was a decent student, leaning towards literature and history and falling slightly short in terms of math and science. She had friends, but many seemed to drift away as years passed by, and the companions that stayed around her weren’t particularly special or worth the effort to maintain friendships with. Her father. . . their relationship was cool, friendly, but not close. He had chosen to stay behind in America while she moved to Korea to pursue her idol career.

Soyeon wasn’t certain what it was that pushed her to decide to accept the opportunity. But she suspected it had something (extremely idiotic) to do with Big Bang. It was a sensational K-pop group, undeniably, but the band meant more to Soyeon than simply another phenomenally successful band. Big Bang had been something of an inspiration to her since, well . . . since their debut three years ago. They were the first group that she had taken a notice to, even before their explosion of popularity.

She admired and respected all five of them. All five of them were talented, all five of them were phenomenal. They weren’t . . . exactly her obsession (anymore), per se, or men she would be romantically attracted to, but they certainly had her highest esteem. It sometimes made her squirm uncomfortably, incredulously, to consider that they were as human as her.

(Not to mention the fact that she could sing every one of their songs, from “A Fool of Tears” to “Forever With U” to “Lies”. Not to mention that “Haru Haru” was her ringtone. Not to mention she always played their songs on her mp3 when she was in need of encouragement. Not to mention she had performed “Sunset Glow” as her audition piece.)

And of course, there was the occasional odd feeling that spread throughout her whenever she thought Kwon Jiyong. _G-Dragon. GD._

Soyeon had only been three years old when she’d met Jiyong, and the latter had been eight by calculation (since his birthday was August 18th, 1988). Back then, her mother had been alive and her family still living in Korea – and Jiyong under SM Entertainment, she recalled. She didn’t remember much of him; they had become friendly with a few meetings and she recalled that she did enjoy his company. He would prance around the playground with her while their fathers walked together behind them. Jiyong’s father was her father’s old college friend, and that was why she and he had met at their young age.

But from what Soyeon _did_ remember, it was hard to reconcile that soft-spoken, mild-mannered, albeit daring oppa with the self-assured, confident, frankly prideful façade that G-Dragon projected.

It was a strange feeling for Soyeon. As odd as it was, she thought she might be feeling companionship with those five boys, despite the fact she had only ever encountered one of them and he probably didn’t even remember her (because she suspected that without Jiyong’s rise to fame she scarcely would have remembered him either). She had watched them since their debut, had felt disheartened at their initial lack of popularity and the harsh rancor of the public. _“They’ll never be successful.” “Look at them, they’re all ugly.” “How long has it been since they debuted? They’re not going anywhere, they should give up at this point.”_

And when Lies had exploded, and with it, Big Bang’s popularity, she’d been triumphant. Ridiculously so, in fact. The satisfaction of seeing them receive the attention that they deserved – her father had been amused, but he had indulged her.

It wasn’t like Big Bang was the only artists she was a fan of. Soyeon had loved Avril Lavigne since she was ten years old, and after Big Bang had pulled her into K-pop, she had also become a fan of Super Junior. But oddly enough, she didn’t feel the same peculiar kinship with them that she felt with Big Bang. It was almost creepy, how personal these boys felt in her life although the majority, and likely all of them, weren’t even aware of her existence.  

But still, Soyeon took more away from Big Bang than just happiness at their success or a sense of strange camaraderie with five men she had never in her life interacted with. She didn’t respect them only because of their popularity, but because they had genuinely worked to get where they were. They hadn’t been an instant hit, but they _did_ persevere. And Soyeon found it impressive. And seeing the love they received from their fans – the V.I.P.s – she was a liar if she said it didn’t appeal to her. A lot.

How would it feel? Standing on a stage, thousands of people watching only her, cheering for only her? Having people who were her _fans?_ Soyeon couldn’t imagine it, but she wanted to be able to.

Actually, she wanted to experience it firsthand.

But that wasn’t even in the future – it was just a _possibility,_ and not a very likely one, at that. She knew better than to get her hopes up. The K-pop industry was rather young, but it had been around long enough for her to recognize that it was competitive.

And someone like Soyeon? She found it hard to wrap her mind around the idea that she could achieve particular success.

 _Just the perfect way to begin your first music video shooting,_ Soyeon chided herself, trying to retain her composure, but the thought that _she was shooting her first music video_ threatened to shove her headfirst into the verge of panic again. Music was a form of expression, of feeling – at least, it had always been to her, and Jelly was no different. Releasing it meant that she was releasing part of herself into the world, for judging and for approval and for criticism. It wasn’t an easy thought to stomach.

She pursed her lips in an attempt to conceal her nervousness. She didn’t think it worked, though, as the stylist flipped one last lock of fiery crimson over her shoulder and gestured her forward. Soyeon followed her directions and found herself standing in front of a cameraman, although the camera itself didn’t seem to be recording. Slightly confused, she glanced at the PD.

 “It’s a ‘behind-the scenes’ shooting,” he explained. “Mr. Hong said he wanted to give the viewers a look at you personally, Soyeon-yang. Which is why you didn’t hear about this until just now.”

Soyeon pursed her lips again. Mr. Hong _had_ spoken to her before the shoot, encouraging her to remain calm and professional and she guessed now that he had been trying to somewhat-prepare her for this without actually giving away what _this_ really was. _“You’re the first artist CUBE is debuting, Soyeon. 4MINUTE and BEAST come soon, but for now, it’s up to only you to hold up our company._

She appreciated his effort, but she still felt intensely burdened.

Nevertheless, this was her job now. Her career. Soyeon knew she at least had to try to do it properly. She slid in front of the camera and glanced at the PD. “What do I do, exactly?”

“For the first scene, just introduce yourself. You may want to explain your song a little too,” responded the PD encouragingly. “Don’t worry. The cameraman will ask you questions. Just follow his lead.”

Soyeon couldn’t say that she wasn’t grateful for the PD’s patience. He was professional, but he was friendly, and kind despite her inexperience and clumsiness. She bowed her head shortly and turned toward the camera, taking a deep breath.

“Ready?” the cameraman asked. Soyeon nodded.

“One, two, three, action!” called the PD. The camera was flipped on, and Soyeon bowed.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” she hesitantly greeted . . . whoever would be watching. _If_ anyone did watch. She hoped that her uncertainty and the fact that she had no idea what she was doing weren’t written all over her face. “This is a ‘behind the scenes’ shoot for my first music video.” Despite her doubts, the thought of her _first music video_ excited her, enough to send her clapping her hands around in a circle as she was wont to do when riled up enough.

“Unni, please clap!” Soyeon joked at her stylist, who was standing behind the camera, prompting a laugh from the older girl and a smile from the cameraman and the PD. She let herself relax slightly. It seemed that she was doing alright. For now.

“Honestly, I’m nervous and have no idea what I’m doing,” Soyeon admitted. It felt better, much better, to admit her hectic state of mind rather than try to fool the viewers (if there would be any, that was) into thinking that she was confident. “But I appreciate the opportunity to work with all of the viewers. Please take care of me.” She concluded her introduction with another bow.

The cameraman spoke, his tone calm and professional despite his earlier smile. “Your first solo song, ‘Jelly’,” he began, “was your composition, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” confirmed Soyeon, pointing a finger at the camera instinctually to punctuate the word ‘right’. After confessing how uncertain she was feeling, it suddenly felt infinitely easier to be herself, to act herself. “‘[Jelly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJ8kJdTYj1o)’ is a song that I composed, wrote, and arranged myself.” She hoped she didn’t sound boastful. Showing her talent was important, she knew, but she also knew that it was a complete turn-off to watch a braggart. And netizens were vicious when they disliked something.

“And what sort of song is ‘Jelly’?” The cameraman asked.

Soyeon hesitated. She wasn’t sure how to respond. ‘What sort of song’? What exactly did that mean? Was there a certain answer that was right? Were there things that shouldn’t be said? Was she about to make a fool of herself? She knew mistakes could be edited out, cut out, but part of her wanted to be as authentic as possible, and the other part, the part that was keeling over in fear of making an idiot out of herself was no help.

Deciding to say what came to her mind, Soyeon responded as best as she could. “‘Jelly’ is a feel-good song,” she began. “There’s a phrase called ‘on cloud nine’, which means to feel ecstatic. I wrote ‘Jelly’ to try to encompass that kind of feeling.” Soyeon paused. Should she go on? Elaborate further?

“And why did you choose to make the title ‘Jelly’?” the cameraman solved her dilemma. Soyeon silently thanked him as she explained, “In my childhood, jelly was my favorite snack. Jelly beans, strawberry jelly, gummy worms . . .” she counted on her fingers, a habit of hers, and smiled, a faint nostalgia creeping over her. She remembered countless desserts upon desserts that consisted of nothing but jelly and Jell-O, sneaking peanut-butter-and-jelly-crepes that her father made especially for her into her mouth while listening to her teachers lecturing, picnics with her father on the uncommon occasion that he had the time, where she would stuff her face with breads smeared over with all types of jelly flavors. She wondered if she would ever get that opportunity again, having left her father behind in America.

Soyeon even faintly remembered one time Jiyong had gotten her a pack of Jell-O. She couldn’t recall when or why, couldn’t even recall what he had said when he’d surprised her with it, but she did remember being delighted.

“Anyway, I have fond memories of jelly,” she continued, brushing off the brief wave of memories. “I associate it with good things. So I was pretty sentiment-driven when writing this song.” She glanced back up at the camera, her gaze having drifted somewhere in the midst of her thoughts of the past, and smiled. The words “please show it lots of love” almost left her, but upon testing them in her mind she internally cringed as she thought that sounded too . . . overdone. So instead, she said, “I enjoyed myself a lot working on this song. I hope that you’ll enjoy it too.” She concluded with a bow.

“Cut!”

The camera was switched off, and Soyeon straightened. “Good job,” the PD praised her, although Soyeon wasn’t sure if he was just trying to be encouraging. She voiced her doubts; if she truly had places to work on, then better that she was aware of them so she could improve. “Did I really?”

The PD looked a bit surprised at her forthrightness, but answered diligently nonetheless, which she appreciated. “Yes, really. You’re pretty natural on camera, which is good. If you make it big and start to appear on television more often later down the line, then you’ll have to work on the entertainment factor in your speaking. But for now, this was good, Soyeon-yang.”

Soyeon could tell he was being sincere. “Thank you,” she thanked the PD. “When will the music video shooting start?”

He glanced at his watch. “In about fifteen minutes,” he replied. “Make sure you’re ready for this. This is an important matter for the company.”

Soyeon nodded. She didn’t need to be reminded of that. She didn’t know if she would succeed, didn’t know if she was capable enough, if it was possible for her, but as long as she’d made it this far, she would try nothing less than her best. “I will.”

If she failed, well . . . Soyeon wasn’t sure. She liked to think that she would be okay, that things would be alright, but she didn’t think she could stomach the brutal ripping apart by the media if she flunked her attempt at success. Just the thought made her want to pace uncomfortably, seeing such hateful comments directed in her direction. She knew that becoming an idol meant a fair share of toxicity towards her, and she was ready for that, but if the majority of the media jeered at her – _that_ , she wasn’t sure about.

Soyeon sighed. The opportunity to share her music, her creations, with the rest of the world thrilled her, but she couldn’t help wondering if she had chosen correctly. There were so many _what-ifs_ ; trying to keep them all in track gave her a headache and did nothing but feed her fears. She could try to push them aside, tell herself that at this point it was meaningless to give negative thoughts such serious consideration, but that had never been something she was able to do. Every time she attempted it, it did nothing but increase her worries.

But she couldn’t deny that those worries were intermingled with searing excitement. What if she actually _did_ make it? What if she really did become beloved to the public? What if one day she would stand on a stage, the center of attention, with thousands and thousands of _her_ fans, cheering for _her?_ The notion was terrifying, but it was a _good_ kind of terrifying, like a rush of adrenaline just before bungee-jumping off a tower.

Which feeling was stronger – the worry or the exhilarating terror – Soyeon couldn’t say, and she didn’t want to dwell on her emotions for this long, especially since doing so would yield no proper results. What she _did_ know, full well, was that it was really pointless to be so anxious; the preparations had all been made. It wasn’t like she could back out abruptly now and terminate her contract. She had to – and would – see this through until the end, good or bad. It was much more than just a matter of her feelings or her concerns now.

_Just do your best._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> |KOREAN WORDS|
> 
>  _oppa:_ a term used by a female to describe a male, older than her, that she is close to
> 
>  _-yang:_ an honorific used for females that are younger than the speaker


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jiyong stared at the magazine, unable to disguise his surprise. Had his brain slipped and given him an incorrect name to fill his memory, or was he really staring at his nigh-unrecognizable childhood friend, her face carefully made-up and her hair dyed vibrant crimson, staring back at him from the page? Her pose was chic and cool; she was seated sideways on a fancy stool, her long legs crossed, her hands folded demurely on her lap, and her head tilted confidently. Her eyes were a striking shade of green that was obviously the work of contacts.

Surprisingly, Soyeon enjoyed the shoot.

The speed with which it seemed to have gone by was a testament to the fun she had during the day. She had shot her music video as necessary, following the PD’s instructions to the best of her ability, which had involved silent acting, lip-syncing to Jelly’s recording, and even eating some gummy-bear-laden-ice-cream, which had been delicious. Periodically she had addressed the (potential) viewers again in the camera as she awaited her scenes. As the day progressed, it had become easier and easier to be herself and settle into a balance between relaxation and professionalism.

Soyeon stood waiting for the staff to finish setting up the final scene: the one in the classroom, where she would pop the balloon, and could hardly believe that the M/V shooting was coming to an end. She checked her phone, and it was 12:27 A.M. The shooting had begun at 6:30 A.M. this morning, or technically, the previous morning; that was nearly eighteen hours.

Soyeon blinked in shock. Eighteen hours – she had been working eighteen hours. Of course she hadn’t been actually _working_ all eighteen of those hours, but still, the sheer amount of time she had spent at the shooting location still flabbergasted her nonetheless. And with the realization of how long she’d been at work, exhaustion, which she hadn’t noticed until now, was beginning to creep in with rapid force.

_You can get plenty of rest tomorrow,_ Soyeon reminded herself. _Keep it together for just a bit longer._

Still, at the moment it felt as if she hadn’t been working for more than five hours at the most. She was enjoying herself. Her worries were still present, but they were swallowed in the thrill of the filming. It helped, too, that Hyuna had previously visited the set and brought her danpatbbang, giving some encouragement and then leaving. Soyeon took a bite of the last remaining one and gazed at it fondly, silently thanking her friend.

“Soyeon-yang,” the director called, prompting Soyeon to swallow as fast as she could, her jaw aching, and hurry over. “Yes, sir?”

“Sit here,” the director patted a desk, and Soyeon slid into its seat, glancing at the balloon attached to the smooth surface of the desk that she would have to pop.

The stylist came over and placed a pin in her hand. Soyeon turned the tiny, sharp object idly around in her fingers as she waited, taking care not to get pricked.

Soon, the director counted off, announcing the start of the scene. Soyeon, leaning back in her chair in a relaxed, almost cocky pose as she’d been instructed, reached forward and popped the balloon, pin in hand. She had braced herself for its explosion, but she couldn’t keep herself from jerking in surprise when the sharp _bang_ tore through the otherwise silent room and the balloon exploded not even a foot in front of her eyes. She managed to gather her composure in a split second, but it was too late; even the slightest flinch was caught and displayed clear as day on camera.

The PD cut the roll. “That was almost perfect,” he consoled, “but you can’t flinch when the balloon pops.”

Soyeon heard herself laugh breathlessly. “Is that possible?” she wondered aloud. She had prepared herself for the shock and she’d still failed to remain stoic; she couldn’t imagine _not_ flinching at the explosion of the balloon.

Doubting herself, she nonetheless sunk back into her self-confident pose sitting on the chair and reached forward, but the knowledge that she couldn’t flinch made her hesitate. Her finger faltered.

“Cut!”

_Oh no._ Soyeon cringed. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, berating herself mentally. It was only a balloon, and all she had to do was not jump when she popped it. Not hard. Not hard at all.

“That’s all right.” The director’s tone was impressively patient. “We go again. One, two, three, action.”

Soyeon repeated her movements for the third time, and thankfully succeeded in keeping her face blank. The balloon sent loose strands of her hair, tied in a [ponytail](https://scontent-lhr3-1.cdninstagram.com/vp/40ecf4b268be6b30df9fe25e95d7d06f/5D7313BD/t51.2885-15/sh0.08/e35/c0.135.1080.1080/s640x640/55937655_372829790238578_7207235242344510668_n.jpg?_nc_ht=scontent-lhr3-1.cdninstagram.com), flaring out about her face, tickling her skin, and the rush of force from the pop stung her eyes slightly, but she remained stone-still and stared straight ahead at the camera, not even blinking.

“Cut!” called the director. The cameras switched off, and the director smiled approvingly. “Well done, Soyeon-yang,” he complimented.

Soyeon gazed at him uncertainly. That – the balloon scene – that was the last scene. Did that mean she was really – “Done?” she asked tentatively as she slowly stood up from the chair. “Are we done?”

The director nodded. “Yes,” he stated. “We’re done.”

An irrational beam splitting her face, Soyeon clapped, turning to the staff and bowing to them. “Thank you for being here!” she called. “Everyone’s done so well.”

She got off the set and approached the cameraman as she’d been told while the staff began to clearly away the desks and the chairs. The camera was flicked on, and Soyeon began to speak again, this time to give a farewell to the viewers (hopefully there would be viewers).

“It’s over!” she announced with unfeigned delight, throwing her hands excitedly into the air and doing a (very unnecessary) twirl as soon as she saw the camera was recording. Coming to a stop, Soyeon faced the camera once more. “I feel so lightheaded,” she confessed. “It’s hard to believe I’ve finished shooting my first music video. It’s not really –” she fished for the right words, “– sinking in.”

“But,” Soyeon changed the subject, “it’s over now, and I really enjoyed it, surprisingly. I was so nervous at the beginning of the shoot.” She laughed – it seemed a little silly in retrospect. All of the staff members were so professional and so kind; she hoped to work with them again.

“Mm . . .” Soyeon thought for a second. “I would like to thank the director, my stylist, and the cameraman –” she smiled at the cameraman, standing behind the camera filming her, “– the rest of the staff, as well as all of you, the viewers, for putting up with my clumsiness and lack of experience today. I’d also like to thank a special friend of mine for bringing me food, which she knew is what I need most, and encouragement during the shoot. Thank you again, everyone.” She bowed, and as she straightened the cameras cut.

“You can go home now, Soyeon-yang,” the director told her. “Great job today. I know it was a lot to handle.”

“Thank _you,_ ” Soyeon insisted. “You, and the rest of the staff, were so patient with me. I hope to work with you again soon.”

After saying her goodbyes, she left the set and took the subway back to her dormitory. Once she had arrived, Soyeon took a shower, blow-dried her hair, and collapsed onto her bed. Her dormitory was small and modest, and she preferred it that way: Just a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. She did live alone, after all.

Soyeon sat up and looked around her room, for no other reason aside from a sudden fondness for the place. It felt all the more important to her after finishing the shooting of her first music video. She hadn’t been with CUBE too long, training for just over a year, because, according to the CEO, most of her skills were already established before she auditioned. But this was the place she’d stayed during her trainee years, and she had good memories.

Soyeon walked to her shelf and picked up a photograph settled in a small wooden frame. It was a photograph of her father, [Lee Jaehee](https://www.hancinema.net/photos/photo807219.jpg), her mother, [Song Yuri](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CqjWwNGVMAAy62S.jpg:large), standing together. Soyeon’s mother held a one-year-old version of Lee Soyeon securely in her arms, and Soyeon’s father’s hand was wrapped around her mother’s waist. They looked surreal, and it didn’t help that Soyeon could barely even remember the time that her mother had been alive.

What would it be like to have a mother? Would she be closer to her father if she did? Would she have siblings? Would she be close to them? What would it be like to have a sibling, a younger brother or sister who looked up to her? Annoying? Fulfilling? Exciting? All three?

Soyeon put down the picture. They were unanswered questions and would remain that way. No point dwelling on what could have been when she had enough to concern herself over as it was.

She moved on to another photo, also set in a small wooden frame. This time it was her, newly four years old, and a slightly older boy that Soyeon knew was Jiyong. They were standing side-by-side, both smiling for the camera. Jiyong wore a T-shirt and loose denim shorts and his cap was on backwards. Soyeon studied him. She could still distinguish some of his baby features on his face currently, but it was strange all the same. Kwon Jiyong. G-Dragon. The same person: her childhood friend, someone who was part of her past. Her faint memories with him were only a little less surreal than her memories of her mother.

Speaking of G-Dragon, Soyeon realized that in a few weeks’ time, her music video would go up, and she would debut. She did have a photoshoot due before then, but she doubted that Big Bang had the leisure time to track newly debuting idols’ photos. In fact, she doubted they had the leisure time to track newly debuting idols in general. But on the chance that they _might_ – they _might_ see her. And that . . . it made her flinch to think about, but it also made her feel exhilarated. Would they approve?

_Don’t be silly, Soyeon,_ Soyeon hissed sharply, warningly, at herself. She was fifteen years old closing in on sixteen; old enough to keep her gushing fangirl feelings separate from her professional career. It didn’t matter of she impressed _them_ , all she needed was approval from the media. Still . . . she couldn’t help thinking it would be quite nice for Big Bang to, say, _clap_ for her. The faint butterflies metamorphosizing to life in her stomach confirmed that yes, it _would_ be very nice.

The sensation made Soyeon smile a little, amused. Just two years ago she would have been reduced to a blushing mess at the thought of Big Bang watching her, in any manner possible. Now she was just a little giddy. It didn’t feel like she loved them any less, so what had happened? Was this maturing? Living apart from her father, living outside of the country she had the most memories of, had forced her to take care of herself. Maybe that helped.

Whatever happened, Soyeon set down the photograph. It didn’t matter. This was her profession now, and she couldn’t afford to let her long-time obsession filter in and cloud her judgment, for better or for worse.

Besides, she didn’t have time to be dwelling on these kinds of things. It was 1:37 A.M., and her hair had finished drying; she needed to sleep. Tomorrow would be an off day, and the next day was her photoshoot, but for now, she was exhausted.

After briefly leaving her bedroom to ensure that the door was locked, Soyeon turned off the lights and slid under her covers. She was asleep before her mind had the chance to wander off again.

**_~_ **

The photoshoot itself was both a mix of stressful and entertaining. After spending most of Sunday cooped in her dormitory, alternating between re-reading _The_ _Silmarillion_ by Tolkien, idly jotting down potential lyrics for a song (whether it would be published or not remained to be seen – there were many songs scribbled in her notebooks that she only ever sang to herself), and running through and experimenting with different beats and flows to go with the lyrics, Soyeon had finally decided to go outside at five in the evening for a run, some coffee, and dinner, which had been two rolls of kimbap.

Once she had returned to her dorm, feeling refreshed, she had showered, written more lyrics while waiting for her hair to dry, and then gone to bed at 9:13 P.M. It wasn’t lost on Soyeon that her sleeping schedule was out of whack, but tomorrow was her photoshoot, and she had decided it would be a good idea to get as much sleep as possible before then. She was glad for it, too, because she’d been in rather good shape during most of the day.

The photoshoot went smoothly for the most part; some of the photographers had been a little curt and unaccustomed to Soyeon’s relative inexperience, which she tried not to let intimidate her (it didn’t work). She was glad she had learned patience during her year as a trainee, because having to maintain certain poses for long enough to get what was deemed to be a perfect shot was tedious. Not to mention all the head-moving and physical contact required.

And the outfits. There were a lot, and Soyeon had found herself changing clothes constantly, from skirts to skinny jeans to tank tops to T-shirts, and reporting to the stylist was frequently a necessary thing, so her hair could be redone and rearranged, her makeup re-applied with different shades and styles, her jewelry changed and straightened. It overwhelmed Soyeon a bit – she didn’t receive such excessive physical contact or fussing over from her father, and definitely hadn’t been for the past little-over-a-year when she had been living by herself in Korea, her father still back in America. She wasn’t used to it. Of course she’d expected something like this, but it made her more uncomfortable than she thought it would.

But at the same time, parts of the photoshoot had been enjoyable. Soyeon didn’t have a particularly notable wardrobe; most of her clothes were T-shirts, jeans, and sneakers or boots, and jackets or coats depending on the weather. She dressed casually, and her style hadn’t changed much since she was young. It had always been simple. But trying on so many different and unorthodox medleys of shirts and pants, all paired with changing hairstyles and makeup styles – it was a new, and interesting, experience. And Soyeon had felt . . . what was the word? Maybe “attractive”? “Confident”? Something to that effect.

Her self-esteem wasn’t low; in fact, she knew she _was_ attractive, but she had never felt any urge to, for example, stride proudly down a street and wordlessly boast her attractiveness. She didn’t feel _that_ good-looking most of the time, but during the photoshoot, when everyone’s attention was on her posing, she had felt a similar, or what she imagined to be similar, rush. It wasn’t a sensation that she felt often. Soyeon was confident in her looks, but not _proud_ of them. The photoshoot hadn’t changed that, not entirely, but it had allowed her to be proud, if only during its duration.

“When will these pictures go out?” Soyeon asked the head photographer.

“Likely sometime late this week or early next week,” was her reply. Soyeon thanked her and drifted off to wait for further instructions. As far as she knew, the shoot was over, but she hadn’t been assured that her job was done yet – and she wanted to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. As Soyeon was mentally reviewing what she had to do during the photoshoot, the director walked over.

“You’re finished here, Soyeon-yang,” he told her. His voice was curter, and he was more stern, than the director that had directed the music video for Jelly, but Soyeon appreciated his professionalism nonetheless, though he could be rather intimidating at times. She bowed. “Thank you for today, director.”

“Of course. And thank you for your hard work as well, Soyeon-yang.”

Soyeon said her goodbyes to the rest of the staff and left the site. As she was walking to her car, she checked her watch. It was 4:53 P.M. She considered her options: a walk, the library, or back to the dormitory?

In the end, Soyeon opted to take a walk and then return to her dorm. She was still rereading _The Silmarillion_ , after all – she had a schedule, and it wasn’t a good thing to try to read two books at once. And Soyeon knew if she went to the library and saw a book of interest, she wouldn’t be able to resist the compulsion to check it out.

Her music video and album were to be released late next week, and the day after that would be her debut stage. Soyeon figured she may as well get as much relaxation as she could before that day. She needed to rehearse, of course; there was no way she was going into her first performance without thorough preparations. But beyond that, she knew from experience that stressing excessively didn’t help. It was detrimental, if anything.

 Soyeon slid into her chair and opened her book. _I should rest._

* * *

_Soyeon . . ._ Lee _Soyeon?_

Jiyong stared at the magazine, unable to disguise his surprise. Had his brain slipped and given him an incorrect name to fill his memory, or was he really staring at his nigh-unrecognizable childhood friend, her face carefully made-up and her hair dyed vibrant crimson, staring back at him from the page? Her pose was chic and cool; she was seated sideways on a fancy stool, her long legs crossed, her hands folded demurely on her lap, and her head tilted confidently. Her eyes were a striking shade of green that was obviously the work of contacts.

_She’s the idol that CUBE is debuting?_ Jiyong was flabbergasted.

He remembered Soyeon, probably better than she remembered him. They’d met during his early years training under SM, when he was eight and she was three. Their fathers had known each other since college; that was why they had decided to introduce their children to each other as well, taking the opportunity that they got when the two families moved into the same apartment complex. Jiyong had liked Soyeon, and he had considered her his friend; a dongsaeng that he could be comfortable around. She had been cheerful and easy to talk to and mature for her age. Well, as mature as his eight-year-old self could grasp the concept of maturity, at least.

Jiyong remembered being surprisingly upset when she and her father moved to America following her mother’s death. He had missed her for much longer than he should have, to the point where Youngbae had seriously asked him if she was Jiyong’s first crush. That question had flustered him _very much_ , Jiyong remembered: _Was S_ oyeon his first crush? A dongsaeng who had been _five_ years younger than him?

She wasn’t, _per se_ , his first crush, but she was definitely someone outside of his family who had become very important to him. And now that Jiyong was older and understood himself a little bit better, he knew that his feelings for Soyeon had crossed into romantic feelings, but she had not been his first _crush;_ rather, he had borne a strange mix of platonic and romantic affections for her. Maybe it was the preteen version of a crush? But in any case, her moving to America and subsequent absence had left a surprisingly large hole in his life for a few years. 

The fact that he had had any romantic feelings for her in the first place had made him embarrassed to think about her for some time. Or, more accurately, the fact that she had reached the level of importance in his life that she had had embarrassed him, because that level had been unusually high considering they were just two kids who had spent time in each other’s company, and she was an entire _five_ years younger than him. The thought of having romantic feelings for someone when they were three years old was more than a little peculiar and just a tad bit unnerving, in his opinion. At first Jiyong had found that he was sensitive to just a passing mention of her. When his mother offhandedly commented that it was unfortunate that Soyeon had to move to America so suddenly, that her mother’s death was a great tragedy, Jiyong had panicked – yes, _panicked_ – and speedily changed the subject. Another time, Youngbae had discovered a photo that he and Soyeon had taken together on the insistence of their fathers and asked who the girl in the picture was. Taken off guard, Jiyong had clumsily mumbled something about a friend of the family and changed the subject in the most awkward way possible.

But as the years passed, his childhood friend had faded and become a vague memory in the back of his mind, no longer something that he really thought about except on particular occasions. Of course, the memory of her, a chubby-faced, smiling three-year-old, beaming with delight when Jiyong had bought her a pack of Jell-O once, was still a precious thing to him, but the topic of Soyeon didn’t fluster him anymore. The times anyone mentioned her, he did feel nostalgia, but otherwise unaffected. And it wasn’t like there were many people who had known about their friendship, either; his mother, his father, and the other members of Big Bang were the only people around Jiyong who had ever even heard about Soyeon’s existence. And of his fellow members, the only one who knew any particular details was Youngbae. The most that Daesung, Seunghyun-hyung, and Seungri was a photo of her at age four.

Jiyong had written the lyrics for [This Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6d_cUb6wRxU) _,_ a solo in Big Bang’s first single album, with Soyeon in mind, not that he would ever tell anyone that. It didn’t embarrass him anymore so much as it felt like an oddly personal detail that he wanted to keep to himself. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to go as far as writing a song with her as his inspiration, but he’d been feeling particularly nostalgic on the day he’d begun scribbling the lyrics down for This Love.

It wasn’t like the song fit her and their relationship exactly. It was a song about unrequited love, which . . . well, had some relevance to Soyeon, as there _had_ been a time when he had romantic feelings for her, but by the time he’d actually realized that those feelings had been romantic, she was long gone to America, and he’d had no idea where in the U.S. she was or any contact number he could have used to get in touch with her again.

In contrast, the song was written from the perspective of a man who was unable to get over his ex-girlfriend. Obviously _not_ an accurate description of Jiyong’s childhood friendship with Soyeon. Still, some of the lyrics had been inspired by thinking of the sadness he’d felt when his friend had moved away. ‘ _For no reason, today seems sadder than other days. “I miss you”, but I can’t say even say that anymore. I can’t even watch you from a distance, it’s really the end.’_ Those lyrics, at least, were in-line with his real feelings; the day he’d begun writing This Love, he _had_ felt unusually sad thinking of Soyeon, and he had keenly felt the fact that he couldn’t tell her that he genuinely did miss her, very much if he was honest, from time to time. And in fact, he really couldn’t so much as _look_ at her again; any ties between them truly ended when she moved.

_‘My friends say I’m an idiot. They tell me to wake up and ask me, “What’s so great about her?”.’ That_ wasn’t _exactly_ true. No one called him an idiot for missing Soyeon, and no one asked what made her so significant, even before he’d managed to get over her, when any mention of her got some sort of rise out of him. Jiyong didn’t even think anyone was aware just _how much_ he had missed her at one point. But back before his feelings had lessened and eventually faded away, Jiyong himself had often wondered what it was about Soyeon that had left such an impact on him. And honestly, even today he really had no idea. It definitely wasn’t because she was the first girl he had been close with; Jiyong had an older sister, so he had never been awkward or timid with girls, even at age eight.

Really, he couldn’t get _close_ to finding a reason for why Soyeon’s absence had affected him so much when he couldn’t even _remember_ all that much about her. It frustrated him sometimes. He had liked her company, her birthday was September 19th, 1993, she loved all kinds of jelly, she had accepted his tree-climbing challenge without hesitation, despite her being five years his junior he never got the sense that she was any younger than him mentally, and . . . that was all. Not exactly enough to answer the complicated question of “Why did she mean so much to me?”.

_‘This love, I’m never going to do something as meaningless as love again. I’ve become so wan; why am I such a fool?’_ When Jiyong had first realized that his feelings for Soyeon had not been completely platonic after all, he’d made the (very childish and impossible) decision to never let himself develop romantic feelings for anyone else. After all, he had thought, if it hurt _this_ much and made him _this_ torn up about another person that he hadn’t even known all that well, he wasn’t eager to experience it a second time, or worse, develop even more serious romantic feelings for another person. Of course, he hadn’t lost weight or gotten sick physically because of Soyeon’s absence, so the lyrics about becoming wan weren’t exactly true, but for a long time he’d felt like what her absence _had_ been doing was to gnaw away at him mentally. It had always been hovering just behind the forefront of his mind, the notion that _Soyeon is gone and she’s moved away and you won’t see her again._

Jiyong _had,_ in fact, questioned why he’d become an idiot for a while after Soyeon moved. Again, he hadn’t known much about her, and, more than that, he’d only been _eight._ It was unlikely that he’d developed such an intimate relationship with someone outside of his family at age _eight_ , especially when that someone was five years younger than he was _._ And Soyeon probably didn’t miss him half as much as he missed her. For a few years, _longing_ had been the best and maybe only way to accurately describe how he felt when he thought of his childhood friend, and even during then Jiyong had felt completely ridiculous for missing her so much.

Of course, he’d gotten over it, over _her,_ eventually, but those feelings had gone on for years – until Jiyong was fourteen, in fact. Nearly _six_ goddamn years of being unable to think of Soyeon without a lump rising in his throat and his day being turned wistful. He was only grateful that he managed to hide it from everyone else around him while it lasted, until he could hear and speak about Soyeon comfortably and like a rational human being, without panicking and trying to turn the conversation away from her so no one would catch on that he missed her to an absurd degree.

_‘This love, to my love who has already left me, who disappeared before I could hold onto you, who’ll never again come back, please fly far, far away, beyond those clouds.’_ Most of those lyrics were true to reality; Soyeon was definitely not someone that Jiyong would call his ‘love’, but she’d certain disappeared before he could hold onto her; after all, how was he supposed to hold onto someone when he hadn’t even realized he had romantic feelings for them until more than a year after they moved away? And when he’d written the song Jiyong had been completely sure that Soyeon was never coming back. Why would she? Even if she _did_ move back to Korea, it was unlikely that they would ever hear anything about each other again. Sure, since then Jiyong had managed to achieve success, but without Soyeon reaching out to him first they would never have contact again, and he had been sure she wouldn’t even have remembered him anyway. She was three when they met and only a month into four when they parted. Who _would_ remember?

Jiyong remembered hoping she would live a good life, soaring away into the clouds like he’d always gotten the impression that she would, one day. In his opinion, things like that were cliché as all hell, but it had been how he’d felt, at he tried not to lie to himself, at least, about his feelings. In fact, on what was her fifth birthday, for his birthday present, he had wished her good luck. He’d even written a card to her, and although obviously she’d never read it, he had pretended that she would, and hoped that on some level, she could. It was a childish fantasy that he kept to himself and would be sure to take it with him to his grave.

_‘I say things about you I don’t mean. This is just like one minus one. September 19 th, your birthday, left alone, alone I’mma fall in love shady.’ _That had all been true, at one point (though that point was now years in the past). For a long time, when Soyeon was brought up Jiyong would do his best to dismiss her. His mom would ask, “Aren’t you sad that Soyeon had to move away?” and Jiyong would shrug and say with feigned nonchalance that he wasn’t, not really, and that he could barely remember what she even looked like, anyway. Both lies; he _had_ been sad when Soyeon moved away, to a stupid degree, almost, and he remembered pretty well what she looked like when he’d last seen her.

Jiyong had felt like there was no good way out of the situation for him, hence the lyrics about one minus one. He had heard from an early age from adults and the Internet that talking about your problems helped, but he couldn’t broach the topic of Soyeon without feeling like an absolute idiot. It didn’t help that he didn’t have much to remember her by. Only a scant few photographs scattered here and there. Even to this day he wondered what he might have done if he hadn’t thankfully managed to get his feelings under control.

The part about September 19th was more or less true, too. Obviously, he’d had Soyeon’s birthday in mind when writing the song, because her birthday was September 19th, 1993. And before Jiyong had gotten over her, that birthday had, in truth, been a sad occasion for him. It was a day that he most often wondered where she might be and what she might be doing, or, to his chagrin, even if she might ever miss him like he used to miss her. Again, for the hundredth time, the more he thought about it the stupider it seemed, but it was how he’d felt for a long time after Soyeon moved.

_‘This love, the fragments of memories that over time will slowly be forgotten and erased – why do they hurt so much?’_ True lyrics, too. Jiyong had always wondered, and he _still_ did today, why such faint memories about someone he’d known so long ago had felt so painful for so many years. Was it normal? For _years_ he had even felt panicked just thinking about it, worried that he was sick, or obsessed, or something along those lines. It was only until he realized his feelings were finally beginning to ebb that he calmed down, but Jiyong still had no idea what it was that had made Soyeon such a large part of his life.

_‘This love, too delicate, too young to be called real love. All these memories and all these things past, please fly far, far away, beyond those clouds.’_ Those lyrics were maybe the most accurate lyrics in the entire song; Jiyong knew he might have had romantic feelings for Soyeon, but whatever he had felt towards her had been far from _love_. Yes, given more time, he thought it might have been possible for it to become love, but in the end it hadn’t, instead just leaving him and flying away. His feelings had been too childish, too impressionable; they hadn’t lasted in Soyeon’s absence. Frankly, Jiyong felt like they were too geared toward an idealized and fake version of his childhood friend more than anything. He hadn’t known her well, after all, and he hadn’t even hit two digits in age when he’d met her. And, for fuck’s sake, she had been _three_ when he first saw her.

_It’s almost like Soyeon was never a person in my eyes,_ Jiyong realized with a start. The revelation felt like a bucket of ice-cold water poured all over his head, mainly because it felt so unfamiliarly _right_. He wasn’t used to understanding his feelings when it came to Soyeon, but he was suddenly sure he’d found the correct answer after all these years. Soyeon had been so significant to him because she’d represented something. His childhood, maybe? His freedom and his life without the pressures of the media and society, and his company? Whatever it was, Jiyong felt stupid all over again. How could he only realize _now_ that he had spent all these years without his childhood friend as a person, just as a personification of something he longed for?

He might have dismissed it, feeling bad but knowing there was nothing he could do to apologize to Soyeon because she was far out of his life now and he was far out of hers, but there was just one small problem preventing him from doing so.

And that was the fact that _Soyeon_ was the idol debuting under CUBE in only a few weeks.

Jiyong felt a little overwhelmed with the opinions that swamped him as the prospect finally sunk in in its entirety. Maybe he hadn’t fully grasped his childhood friend as a person, but the emotions made him realize that he still cared about her and didn’t want to see her hurt. Truth be told, he was worried for her. The media, the netizens, were vicious; he knew that all too well from firsthand experience. Big Bang’s debut hadn’t exactly been a sweeping all-kill, after all; the hate comments, the snide remarks about their appearance, their lack of talent, the almost nonexistent company they had come from – they had all been used to shame him and his fellow members, drag them through the dirt, chew them and spit them back out. It was _hard_. It was damn hard going online and seeing people saying things about you and your friends, without thinking once about how eager they had been to debut, how full of hopes and dreams they had been.

Jiyong wouldn’t necessarily say _nothing_ good could amount from that kind of abuse. It had been the ripping apart that Big Bang had suffered at first that had given him the motivation to keep working, harder and harder until he proved the netizens wrong. Their cruelty had only fed the flames of his ambition, as corny and fantastical as it sounded. If he could he would hunt down every person who had made such insensitive comments about him and his bandmates and thank them for multiplying their determination by a double with every harsh word.

But that didn’t mean he wanted anyone else to be exposed to such ruthless disregard for people’s feelings. Least of all _Soyeon._ Jiyong wasn’t sure how he would react if he came across a hate comment about his old friend, but he knew it definitely wouldn’t be a pleasant feeling, seeing the girl he had last known as barely four years old being subjected to the media’s rancor. Obviously she had grown and matured into the teenager staring back at him from the magazine’s cover, but still . . . he didn’t want that for her. He didn’t want that for anyone.

And _what_ was he going to do if they ran into each other? There was a good possibility that if they both attended an award show, she would at least see him.

Jiyong paused. He was jumping to conclusions; did Soyeon even remember him? She’d been a few months into four years old the last time they saw each other. It wouldn’t surprise him if she didn’t.

If so, it was better for him. Jiyong would rather not have to endure all the awkwardness that might ensue if two childhood friends who hadn’t seen each other for more than ten years ran across each other again, nor did he want his bandmates witnessing such a spectacle. Especially not in the public space like an award show, where fans and reporters were always watching. He could already imagine the exploding rumors if he and Soyeon showed any signs of familiarity with each other.

With a groan, Jiyong buried a hand in his hair, his fingers closing around clumps of black locks. He never would have predicted he’d end up in such a difficult situation. How were you supposed to react when your childhood friend that you hadn’t even known well had moved to a different country showed up in your life again? Well, maybe in the simplest form of the situation you would smile and hug them, even cry, but Jiyong’s relationship with Soyeon was a little more complicated. He didn’t _know_ her, not a lot. Not _at all,_ if he was being honest, and she didn’t know him, either.

Jiyong was ambivalent about the concept of fate. He’d never been sure if he considered it simple chance or if there was actually some higher consciousness dictating every organism’s path in life, but this was one of those instances where he was almost convinced that the latter option was the correct one. And also that he was scrawled down on that higher consciousness’ shit list.

He paused to collect his thoughts, getting over his initial flustered reaction to the sudden development. Youngbae was the only other member who knew Soyeon’s name, and he would probably recognize her, but Jiyong could deal with that. His friend was more than discreet enough to realize that Jiyong wanted to keep details about his childhood private. He trusted and cared about all his fellow members (how could he not?), but he just didn’t feel the need to drag them into details so personal and potentially make things awkward for them if they ever ran into Soyeon too.

Now Jiyong could only hope that Soyeon didn’t remember him, so he could pretend and act like she was just another idol, a junior who’d caught his eye. Maybe he’d get the chance to become closer to her and start all over again.

He would like that. They’d been children when they met and parted, but they had grown over the years. Jiyong certainly wasn’t the same as he was when he was eight. It _would_ be a nice thing, he reflected, rekindling a childhood friendship with someone who’d moved to another country more than ten years ago. He would be lying if he said curiosity didn’t stir in him at the thought of a . . . would Soyeon be fifteen now? A fifteen, almost sixteen, year-old Soyeon. He remembered her to be cheerful and adventurous; had that changed? He remembered thinking of her as mature for her age; would that be the same?

_Jumping to conclusions again,_ Jiyong scolded himself. That was all assuming he would get the chance to associate with Soyeon, which was also dependent on whether she recognized him as her sometimes-companion from when she was three years old.

Hopefully it was as unlikely as he imagined it to be.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {KOREAN WORDS}  
>  _ **danpatbbang:**_ Korean sweet red-brean bread
> 
> _**-yang:**_ a Korean honorific used for females that are younger than the speaker
> 
> _**kimbap:**_ a Korean dish made from cooked rice and other ingredients that are rolled in dried sheets of nori seaweed and served in bite-sized slices
> 
> _**dongsaeng:**_ a Korean word used to refer to one's younger sibling or a close friend that is younger than oneself
> 
> _**-hyung:**_ a Korean honorific used to refer to a male's older brother or a male's close friend that is older than him


End file.
